The Last Person I'd Ever Fall in Love With
by Belletrist Word Salad
Summary: A rewrite of the Edward/Bella dynamic.


**Author's Note:** I know, I know. Why another Twilight fic, Belletrist? Here's the thing: for one of my classes, I did a multi-genre project on Sandra Cisneros and for one of my genres, I decided to put my visceral hatred for Twilight to good use by rewriting the dynamic of the Edward/Bella relationship. What's more, I feel that I could easily rewrite Twilight. I'll let you decide if this qualifies me.

Also, kudos to Sandra Cisneros, whose brilliant novel Caramelo inspired this little piece.

The Last Person I'd Ever Fall in Love With

If I had to pick the last person on the planet I'd ever fall in love with, Bella Swan, it'd be you. The most awkward. Honest to God. Completely out of it. Look at you. Such a little girl. So small in the halls of Forks High. And so clumsy. How many times have you dropped your books now? And your nails stubby from where you've never stopped biting them. And to top it off, those puppy dog looks you give me at lunch. So childish. How did I ever wind up with somebody like you?

Bella.

Honest to God, at first I didn't even notice you. Who would notice you? You weren't even a blip on my radar until your first lunch at school where all you did was stare and stare in my direction. That's when I realize. I can't read you at all. Not like I could other humans. Not only childish, but frustrating too. And yet, it fascinates me that you're so unreadable. Frustration becomes fascination. And aren't they just the head and tail of the same coin after all?

And then the next thing you know, you're very beautiful. Or very average.

Depending. But isn't it always like that with love?

Bella.

It's the time of the meteor showers. You drive over in your funky orange truck, the one your father Charlie gave you when you first came to Forks, a big clunky pickup full of rust and dirt. You've never seen a falling star either.

—What, never?

—Never.

—Not even in Phoenix?

—Nope.

At first, it's you, me, and Jacob Black. But Jacob wants to meet his "pack" downtown and play football first. So you drop him off and promise to pick him up later. That's how it is we drive up to the hill. Just the two of us. You and me, Bella.

On the night of the falling stars, we don't see any stars. Not a one. It's too cloudy. Typical Forks weather. So we sit in the bed of your pickup, and I ask,—So what's your real name?

—What?

—What do they call you?

—Bella.

—No, I mean, haven't you got a nickname or something? What did they call you in Phoenix?

—Bella, you say again, with a chuckle like you'd give in the school halls.

Bella. I let out a sigh. It lacks dignity, respect, mystery, poetry, all ingredients necessary to fall in love.

But then you tell me your full name.

—Isabella.

And somehow, that's even more unsuitable for you than Bella. And you never even liked the name your mother gave you. So I'll leave it at that. And that's what I call you. Since the night of falling stars when we didn't see any falling stars. Bella, then and since.

* * *

If I had to pick the last person on the Earth I'd ever fall in love with, Edward Cullen, it'd be you. The most uptight. I swear to God. If I stuck a lump of coal up your ass, in two weeks, you'd shit a diamond. Especially with those looks you gave me at lunch my first day of school. That's how chiseled you are. Even more than an Apollo. Not a trace of beard or mustache, or even sideburns. And your skin so white that it practically sparkles in sunlight. Blinding. Like a fricking albino.

Edward.

But that can only mean I'm unable to keep my eyes off of you, especially with the Biology project we've been assigned. Now there's no avoiding you. Or your piercing gaze. Seriously. Like you wanna see through me. Good luck with that. After seeing what Mom's been through, I resolved to never be as readable as she. No one's gonna find out my deepest darkest secrets and use them against me.

And yet. It's precisely because I can't avoid you that I can't help but memorize every detail of you. Including how cold-cold-cold your skin is.

And the next thing you know, you're drop dead gorgeous. Isn't it always like that? Someone pisses you off to no end…and then they grow on you.

Edward.

There was a meteor shower that night. Naturally, I wanted to go with my BFF Jacob. And since Jacob is one of those "safe" guys, Charlie lets me go, can you believe it? Then for some unfathomable reason, I decide to invite you as well. So I drive up in my rustbucket of a truck and it's you, me, and Jacob. Until Jacob decides he wants to go play football with his "pack" downtown. And that's how we drive up the hill overlooking that dreary town of Forks. Just you and me.

I've never seen falling stars. Not even the occasional shooting ones. Not even in Phoenix. Here and there. But for different reasons. In Phoenix because I was practically a shut-in. In Forks because of the typical Forks weather. Cloudy. Like you must find me.

—So what's your real name? you ask, out of the gray.

—What?

—What do they call you?

—Bella.

—No, I mean, haven't you got a nickname or something? What did they call you in Phoenix?

—Bella, I repeat with an awkward chuckle. Awkward. Because that's what my full name is.

You let a sigh I wanna punch in the teeth. Might as well tell you.

—Isabella, I say, waiting for a laugh. What was Mom thinking?

But I hear none.

And since then, it's easier to work with you, respect you, and maybe even like you more than a classmate, knowing you have that basic respect for me.

Edward.


End file.
